


Mystery Cult

by Boethiah



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Clerical Sexual Abuse, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gross, Heterosexual Sex, IDK how old she is, One Shot, REALLY GROSS, Rape, Sex, Sexual Harassment, This is pretty much rape, Underage Sex, Underage just in case, Unhealthy Relationships, it's not supposed to be sexy, toxic, you can't convince me Cornello didn't do this to someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 05:52:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11434515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boethiah/pseuds/Boethiah
Summary: Rosé feels sick.





	Mystery Cult

When Father Cornello shows up at her doorstep, it’s with a soaked cassock and a downcast face. Outside, the rain blows – Rose beckons him in, placing the umbrella outside.

She scurries into the kitchen to prepare some tea. He appreciates how she remembered his favorite – earl grey, from the picnic the two once hosted together. Taking off his cassock, he sits on the worn couch, clad only in an undershirt and shorts.

“I came here to ask you a favor.” he says. When he speaks, it’s not in the deep, booming voice she’s accustomed to; it’s the gentle tone he takes whenever he’s speaking to someone one-on-one. Rose hasn’t even sipped her own cup of tea and already she feels soothed by his voice.

Rose nods. “Sure, Father. Anything.”

She comes to regret her choice of words later.

Father Cornello has a look of shame on his face. Rose has seen him sullen and grave before, yes, but never _ashamed_. He opens his mouth halfway as if to say something before casting his eyes downward again.

“What’s the matter, Father?”

“Have a seat next to me.” he says, patting the adjacent space on the couch. She complies without saying a word.

It’s when she sits down that she notices the way Father Cornello’s been gazing at her. Usually, his stare is a source of comfort; a reprieve from a frightening, cold world. This time it’s different. This time, his eyes gleam with passion, with an unspoken want. A _hunger_.

To reassure her, he places his hand on her shoulder.

“My child, I…” He looks into her eyes for a moment before trailing back. “…I’ve been thinking lately. About you. About Cain.”

Rose pinches her eyes shut at the memory. Father Cornello toys with a strand of her hair.

“I know how lonely you’ve been after his d – his _passing_. I reassure you that the time will come when you meet him again.” His hand trails downward to feel the smoothness of her arm – she pretends she doesn’t notice. “But before that, I’ve been thinking about him. About the _urges_ he satisfied.”

She blushes scarlet at the mention. Rose’s no innocent child; there were times when the two had snuck out after one of Father Cornello’s sermons, hand in hand, for the sake of some “independent reflection.” Rose pushes his hand away in faux-surprise; Cornello merely reasserts it, gripping onto her arm.

_Was he…_

“There’s no need to be ashamed, Rose. Physical love is one of Leto’s many gifts to us.” He snakes his arm up to cup her chin slightly. “And that’s the reason I came here.”

Father Cornello sighs. “I don’t have anyone of my own, as you know. I’ve never married or even romanced anyone. I’m too old for that.” he says, looking forlorn. “I was wondering if you could…perhaps…”

Rose decides to voice her dissent. “Father, are you asking – are you asking me to…”

“Come now, child. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” His smile is as gentle as ever, but under the lamplight and leaning towards her it’s warped into a menacing grin. “Nobody has to know.”

She considers her options for a moment. No-one would believe her if she told them – the police are as ardent listeners to his sermons as she is. And what would he say if he found out she tried to tell them? How would she be…

No. Rose pushes the thoughts to the back of her mind. She should be ashamed of herself for thinking such things about Father Cornello.

“And after all, aren’t you lonely too?” He puts his hands on her shoulders, more forcefully this time. “Don’t you feel those same passions, those animal desires?”

Rose rubs her legs. He’s correct as always. Lonely, shameful nights spent toying with herself, missing the touch only he could give – only a man could give. She nods.

“Give yourself to me, my child.” He massages her shoulders. “Let me… _ease_ your burden. Nobody has to know.”

She squelches the tiny voice of protest inside of her. This was _wrong_. This was Father Cornello, the heart and soul of this town, and he – and he –

He cups her cheek again and looks into her eyes, his face fixed in a solemn expression. “Say yes.” he says, and she doesn’t know whether it’s a request or a demand. Rose’s head spins.

“…yes.” It isn’t said, barely whispered, but he can hear it. But it isn’t enough.

“Say it again, Rose. I need to know that you want this.”

“Yes, Father. I want this.”

She can’t look him in the eye. “I want you.”

The first thing she remembers happening after that is his hands hoisting her up from the sofa and dragging her into her one-woman bedroom, followed by the creaking of her mattress against the weight of her body.

He tears off her nightdress by the straps, kneading the soft flesh beneath. Whatever resistance her legs put up isn’t enough to stop him from prying them open and gripping them. He kisses her and it’s a smother, a choking grip that leaves her gasping for air. Then his mouth’s at her neck, lips nipping at the flesh of her neck, tongue slobbering on her breasts and trailing down her stomach…

Father Cornello is nothing like Cain. Cain was at his worst an inattentive lover; Father Cornello is nothing _but_ intent, nothing but a need to slake.

As he dives between her legs, Rose winces. He thrusts _hard_ inside of her, shaking her against the mattress – what little pleasure she feels from the act is overwhelmed by the _pain_ and _disgust_ that overcomes her. He’s grunting now, his flabby body pushed to its limits by lust and ecstasy and –

Rose screams as he _yanks_ her by the hair and at that moment, his release spills inside of her. His cock pulls out and dribbles fluid on her stomach. Fingers open and loose strands fall onto the bedsheets, followed by his body collapsing upon her.

They lay there for a while as the sputtering noises from his throat die down. Rose breathes in relief – his weight against her is as heavy as ever, but at least he isn’t hurting her anymore.

Cornello rolls off her body and lies still for a bit. Rose’s eyes wander up to stare at the ceiling – nothing else occupies her thoughts.

He tosses about and she turns to look at him. This is the time he’s visited her, but he’s lying on the bed like it’s his own. Like he knows exactly where he is and why he’s there.

_Was he…planning this?_

No. It was a moment of weakness.

“Father, I…” she says, in a small voice.

“Shut up.” His voice is low, guttural. Authoritarian. Rose complies.

Cornello heaves himself off the bed. “Goodbye, Rose.” he says, in the kind voice she’s more comfortable with. “And thank you.”

She stares back at the wall. He said he’d sate her, ease her burden…then why did she hurt _more_ instead of less? He’d given her so much…then why did she feel like he’d _taken_ something from her tonight? Was she really so ungrateful for his help?

Outside, the umbrella lies in a puddle of rainwater.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not intend to write more of this. Do not ask me to write more.


End file.
